


Carmine

by LPM



Series: Blood Justice [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Crime Fighting, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Detective Derek, Detective Derek Hale, Detective Stiles, Detectives, F/M, Gen, Guns, M/M, Magic, Major Original Character(s), Multi, Original Character(s), Original Universe, Slow Build, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:16:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LPM/pseuds/LPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Stiles Stilinski is an agent of the Force, pledged to keep the balance of peace between supernaturals and humans. He loves his job, loves helping people and putting away baddies, then one day he nearly gets blown up by a pair of highly dangerous vampire brothers, and his entire world gets turned upside down. In the midst of the chaos, some legendary werewolf siblings arrive in the city to take things over and Stiles finds himself swept up in an investigation that could change lives...or end them. Will he and his new sourwolf partner, Derek Hale, find their vampiric perps and put an end to possible massacre before time runs out?</p><p> This is a story of blood and betrayal, love and lies, and the bonds forged amid them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carmine

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS I wrote a thing! Ok so here's the deal. I've been writing this series since the summer and just...haven't put it up. I don't know why. Anyway, that means that none of it is canon-compliant. Like...at ALL. It's an alternate universe so everyone is still alive and etc. etc. we all know the drill with AUs. I also haven't included the new characters like the Miss blake (because she's terrible) and Kira (because she literally popped up like SURPRISE like a week ago) but that doesn't mean things won't change later. What else? There's a fair bit of crime-solving type things happening here and, this will become glaringly obvious as you read but, I know next to nothing about detective work! Or cars! So please excuse my amateur attempt at it! Law & Order SVU only prepares you so far!
> 
> That's all I can think of for right now. Please do comment and such, I LOVE comments. Good, Bad, constructive, etc. Please and thank you! Also please come round to tumblr and give me a visit! I'm at thelpm.tumblr.com

_When Caesar soliloquized the Roman Senate, he sought to impress upon them, in the grandest of terms, his almighty greatness. As he let lavish stanzas of self-praise fall from his lips, his dearest friend and last supporter looked to him and heard not the opulent illusion of greatness Caesar painted, but the sound of the Roman Empire burning. The absoluteness of his power played an unfortunate turn in the tides, and on that day, the prophesied Ides, good Brutus saw his friend die. Though the legacy of Brutus falls firmly in line with those of betrayers, it must be said of Caesar that his hand was not completely clean. When a man witnesses what he holds dear being threatened, even the closest of friends can become enemies to be vanquished._   
_And vanquish Caesar is what Brutus did._

* * *

 

They lay slumped and broken, eyes open but unseeing, mouths frozen in endless screams. All in varying states of undress, they are strewn like the clothes they aren't wearing, lying on the ground. Broken dolls with glass eyes.

"Santa Maria!" Rodriguez swears, covering his mouth with a handkerchief when he lays eyes on the bodies. Stiles tends to agree, this is horrible, even by city standards.

"What've we got?" he asks Lydia weakly, crouching down to where she's already stooped, examining one of the bodies.

"It's bad Stiles, really bad" she says grimly, eyes big in a pale face. Sometimes being the medical examiner for their unit got unbearably grisly; this is one of those times.

"Tell me." he says. She whips out her steno pad and her eyes flit down the words scribbled there.

"There are six in total; four in here, one in the bathroom, one spread out on the bed. All of them seem to be between the ages of 20-30, all female obviously." she rattles off as Stiles nods along,

"COD?" he asks, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it,

"Exsanguination. No visible lacerations except for two small puncture wounds in various locations on each woman." she says, confirming his fears,

"Shit!" Rodriquez says softly, everyone in the room agrees

"Stiles...we've got vampires." Lydia murmurs as Stiles gets to his feet,

"yeah" he grunts "I kinda figured."

* * *

 

"Antonin, you must learn to clean up after yourself" Asimov chid his brother softly as he walks into the home they chose to stay in. Antonin, young looking and rakishly handsome, smirks around the rim of the crystal tumbler full of brandy he holds to his lips.

"Come now brother, I'm only having a little fun. It's been so long since we've been back home!" he drawls, sipping the liquor and humming in approval. Asimov crosses his arms,

"And 6 of them? Was that entirely necessary?" he insists, fixing the younger man with an irritated look. Antonin scowls and shrugs, becoming annoyed with his brother's questioning,

"they were prostitutes, they won't be missed." he says dismissively.

Faster than he can blink, Asimov is in front of him, eyes blazing and fangs fully dropped,

"We didn't come back here to play around with whores! We were given a mission!" he growls. Just as quickly, Antonin is on his feet and right in his brother's face,

"Damn the mission and the man who gave it! Brother, you know it is madness!" he cries.

Predictably, he ends up flying through the air to smack painfully into the wall, creating a crater in the white plaster.

"Say nothing more tonight brother, you test my patience" Asimov says calmly, "you may take your fill of whores, just be sure to clean up after yourself. We don't need anyone getting suspicious or knowing we're here, this isn't our territory anymore. Or did you forget?"

Antonin scowls and says nothing, looking sulkily off to the side. Asimov takes it as acquiescence and nods once before exiting the room, leaving his brother to brood alone.

* * *

 

"Stilinski!" the Captain's voice booms out of his office, jolting Stiles from the riveting game of Tetris he's playing on his phone. Not pausing to stop the game, he gets up and ambles into the cramped shoebox of a room labeled "Capt. Cragan" and faces the man himself.

The first thing anybody notices about William "Bill" Cragan is his bald head, which is only sometimes very lightly dusted with greying stubble on days when he can't drag himself home to shave. He's a man with features softened by age, eyes tucked gently into folds of skin and lightly sagging jowls. He gives the impression of being malleable, like putty, but Stiles and everyone who's ever come into contact with him knows better. They know that those eyes can pierce like arrows, and the tongue is sharp enough to cut. Cragan isn't a man to be screwed with on a good day, but once you're under his wing, he'll take a bullet (physical or metaphorical) for you.

"What's up doc?" Stiles says in greeting, maneuvering around the haphazardly stacked piles of paper and files. Cragan frowns at him but doesn't comment, just waits for Stiles to sit,

"It's the Motel 6 case Stilinski. We got trouble." Cragan says when Stiles has wiggled onto a hard chair.

"Yeah I know," Stiles replies, "vampires that go around leaving bodies are generally trouble."

The second he'd laid eyes on the girls in the room, pale and drained of blood, he'd known they had trouble. But Cragan is frowning and shaking his head, hands folding underneath his chin like he does when he's about to say something upsetting,

"no this is more than just some newbie punk getting his thrill on from live bait." he sighs wearily and thrusts a sheaf of grainy photos into Stiles' hands.

"We got CCTV?" Stiles exclaims, looking through the shots with brows furrowed.

"Yeah, useless crap for the most part. But we got a clear look at our guy when he stopped off at a 7/11. We think it's Antonin Amicus, and we're guessing his brother Asimov also came into town with him." Cragan says and Stiles feels cold dread flood his belly.

The Amicus clan had once been great. Hailed far and wide as the epitome of integrated vampire living, they had presided over the supernatural society of the country, with their main residence right there in New York City. Then one day, Ametrius Amicus, the benevolent patriarch (Signore) of the clan and main proponent of peace among them, had turned up dead with a stake through his heart right outside their penthouse. Madness had ensued and accusations flew; through the chaos, Ametrius' brother Adamus became the Signore and a new reign among the vampires began. It was slow at first, an accidental death here and there, but then all pretenses evaporated and outright slaughters began.

For ten years Adamus Amicus had cut a bloody swathe across the country, with an army of blood frenzied vamps under his command. His ultimate goal was to overthrow the President and, using fear tactics and compulsion, he nearly did it. But then, miraculously, he was stopped. A mysterious force of agents specializing in the supernatural appeared, working in concert with the werewolves, led by George and Eileen Hale. After a year's long battle, where many more died, The Force had slain Adamus and had his second in command, and son, Arsenic, cornered. The Battle at Witch's Walk proved to be the last stand of the rogue vampires, as Arsenic died and the rest of the Amicus clan fled. At last, The Bloody Decade was at its end.

Stiles had only been 7 when Witch's Walk had taken place, but he remembers those days clearly. Back when everything anyone ate or drank was laced with vervain to prevent compulsion, and fear stalked the streets like a physical thing. His father had enlisted in the Force, intent on doing his part to end the war that had taken his wife, Stiles' mother, Claudia. The day he'd gone to training had been the last time Stiles had seen him until the he stood with his aunt when they had her identify the body. The war had taken both of his parents' lives.

"What could they be doing, showing their faces here? After all this time?" Stiles asks, shaking off the chill. Cragan looks tired,

"If we knew the answer to that, I wouldn't have an ulcer forming. Now get to work on it, I don't want those bastards turning this town into a shit parade" he says, with half of his usual bite. Stiles straightens and does a mini-salute before swinging out of the office and heading to his desk.

"Trouble?" Rodriguez asks from his desk, Stiles shrugs and gives his partner a hard smile,

"ain't it always?"

* * *

 

The CCTV footage shows a flashy vintage Corvette convertible with 3 girls inside it, driving away from the 7/11. The quality is too grainy to make out the license plate, but Stiles figures there can only be so many of that exact kind of car in the area.

"It's got a pretty intricate custom job on it, and look at the stylization on the tail lights. There's only a few shops that could pull off that kind of work on this car and only 2 of them are in the area" Rodriguez says, leaning away from the screen. Stiles nods,

"into cars Rodriguez?" he jokes, the other man laughs "let's just say that if mechanics got paid like Force agents do...well you'd have a different partner"

Stiles stands, slapping Rodriquez on the back,

"well damn. I guess I should consider myself blessed!" he says,

"now let's roll on these auto shops. I haven't slept before 4am in what feels like forever, I'm turning into a panda!"

* * *

 

"Aw, Amelia, that right there is a beauty of a machine!" Sal Baker whoops, looking fondly down at the CCTV freeze frame of the Corvette.

"Amelia?" Stiles questions, and Rodriguez smirks at his lack of car knowledge

"name of the car" he supplies smugly. Stiles elbows him in the stomach...hard, then refocuses on Sal.

"So your shop DID do the work on this vehicle?" he asks, and Sal nods proudly

"sure did! That there's one of a kind, only me'n my son Johnny can do it now" he says. Stiles feels triumph spike inside him, the trail is red hot,

"alright, can you tell us who commissioned this...uh...Amelia?" he asks, and Sal opens his mouth but looks confused after a moment,

"Yep, that's one beaut of a car!" he proclaims jovially after a moment and Stiles feels his earlier triumph go up in flames,

"No, Mr. Baker, we're asking who paid for Amelia?" Rodriguez presses, having not caught on to what Stiles knows must be happening.

"Uh huh, that there's one of a kind work, only me'n my son Johnny can do it now" Sal says again. Stiles sighs deeply, the trail is suddenly not looking so hot anymore.

"No Mr. Baker..." Rodriquez tries again but Stiles puts an arm out to stop him,

"enough Rodriguez. He's been compelled" he says bitterly, "come on. let's go"

They turn to leave, Stiles' mind racing ahead to counter the sudden setback, but Sal's arm shoots out and he grabs Stiles' arm.

"Mr. Baker" Stiles says slowly, "let go of my arm."

"You need work done on your car officer?" Sal asks, and his tone is still jovial but there's something else beneath it, something that sets Stiles' detective instincts off.

"No sir, we don't need anything more...and we're detectives, not cops" Rodriguez interjects, but Stiles puts up a hand, silencing him.

"I could use a few touch ups on my old Jeep" he says carefully. There's a hard glint in Sal Baker's eyes, a defiant edge that tells Stiles he's about to be put back on his trail again.

"You go visit my son Johnny. He'll set you right." he says, and nods to the right, where there's a door leading out of the garage.

"Thank you Mr. Baker. I'll be sure to." Stiles says, and grabs Rodriguez by the lapel, towing him forcefully towards the door.

"What the?" his partner sputters, but Stiles cuts a warning look at him. Compulsion is a tricky thing, as most anybody knew. A clever vamp set things up so that anything could set off the trigger that would cause the compelled person to act on a well worded command. Knowing what he did about the Amicus vampires, Stiles could bet something horrible lay in wait for Sal Baker should anyone come snooping too close to the answer. Compelled suicide is well within the Amicus MO.

The door leads to a narrow hall with 3 more doors. One is labeled as a unisex bathroom, the next is a storage room. That left the furthest door, standing partially open at the end of the hall.

Stiles signals Rodriguez and they fall into their approach formation, Stiles drawing Lucy, his modified 9mm Glock, as they approach. He eyes the part of the room visible through the sliver between door and jamb. Empty. Slowly, he opens the door and crouches low as he enters, Rodriguez keeping watch at his back. The room is small and square, with a single window and the only door being the one Stiles entered through.

"Clear!" Stiles says quietly, and Rodriguez enters the room, closing the door behind them. Stiles' sharp eyes take stock of the space, which is an office with a single desk and an ancient computer. File cabinets line the far wall, laden with sloppily stacked folders and papers.

"Alright, what're we lookin for?" Rodriguez asks, hands on his hips as he takes his own sweep of the small room.

"Something telling...those Amicus brothers didn't clean up after themselves, that much I'm sure of...anything that seems off..." Stiles replies and begins gently rifling through the mess of papers on the desk. Invoices and order forms spanning the past month make up most of it, and Stiles is about to turn and look at the filing cabinets when something catches his eye.

"I think I got something!" he says, his instincts abuzz. Rodriguez comes to peer at the paper he has clutched tightly in his hands,

"a delivery slip?" he says, eyeing it dubiously. Stiles' eyes flit across the paper,

"yeah, a delivery slip for a custom part, an address on the Upper East Side, going to a John Smith. The reference number is 07588231IAZ, can you look it up in the filing cabinet? I think they go by the letters at the end" his nerves are jumping, making him feel jittery. This is it, he knows, this is the something that will put them back on the trail.

"Got it! I got it!" Rodriguez calls, waving a thin folder in the air. Stiles strides over and grasps it in his hand,

"Custom part no.07588231IAZ," he reads, triumph cutting a shark's grin across his face, "flame-type taillight for a Corvette."

* * *

 

The address turns out, like he'd known it would, to be an opulent foreclosure. The doorman, liveried in green and gold, eyes them when Stiles and Rodriguez flash him their badges before heading up. Swank places like the one they were in, rarely have trouble with supernaturals. The kinds that are wealthy enough to live there, tend towards rigid civilization, adhering to the same stiff upperclass rules as Victorian era gentry.

"Damn, how'd they swing this" Rodriguez whistles, eyeing the crown moulding and golden chandeliers with plain envy. Stiles snorts,

"how else? compulsion!" he says. They take the glittering gold and wood-paneled elevator up to the topmost floor, exiting and stepping onto plush carpet. The hall is quiet, all sounds muffled by the dense walls and thick carpet.

"918A" Stiles whispers. Rodriguez nods and follows him down the hall.   
They'd called back to base on the way over and Cragan had given him the go-ahead to watch the door for the brothers. Being that they were likely staying in the apartment free of rent, they probably weren't making use of the front door to get in and out too often. The captain had also sent a backup team to assist in the takedown, no Amicus had ever been known to go to the lockup without putting up a fight.

Stiles hopes they get here before anything happens. He's no average Joe, but he's unprepared for a vampire showdown and Rodriguez can only do so much before he's overwhelmed.

They wait for half an hour before the elevator pings and the rest of the team comes out. There's handsome, smirking Rogers; Barretta and his quick-draw magic hands that he shoots like pistols; Old Grumman who even vampires fear; and tiny Celeste who could kill a vampire without ever touching it. Stiles assumes that Haverford and Pike have got the exits and outside.

He looks over at Grumman who nods and takes the lead. Barretta follows close behind with Rogers and Celeste flanking him. Stiles and Rodriguez bring up the rear. Battle formation.

Looks like they got a warrant Stiles thinks. They're not going in for a polite "hands behind your back" arrest, they're going in to takedown.

The team flanks the door and stands back for Rodriguez who steps forward and begins murmuring. He raises his hand, pointing at the top center of the door, then he traces a glowing rectangle in the air, still murmuring. The rectangle outlines the door and then disappears. Grumman gives the door a firm kick, shouting

"AGENTS OF THE FORCE, YIELD!" as it falls inward. They swarm the room and Stiles has a moment to appreciate their taste in homes before he's focused on the raid.

The room is haphazard and cluttered with the telltale signs of what must have been a pretty large party. Bottles of Veuve Clicquot and Patron aren't the only things lying around, however, and Stiles scowls as 4 bodies, all women, stare unseeingly at them from where they sprawl, dead.

"Shit!" Grumman swears and radios in the situation.

The place seems to be deserted, except for the bodies making gruesome decorations in the vast living room. They spread out and search the place, finding a cache of hundred dollar bills, a fridge with nothing but a hunk of gouda cheese and blood bags in it, and a few leftover articles of very expensive gentlemen's clothing.

"They've cleared out" Rogers says sourly. That much is obvious.

Cragan has them cordon off the room and alert the building staff. It's just as they're leaving the room, that Barretta sees something beneath one of the dead girls.

"What's this?" he calls, and they all stop. Stiles, closest to the other man, walks over and sees that it looks to be a letter written in an elegant slanting hand, its addressed, infuriatingly, to The Force Officers.

"I can't really read this..." Barretta mutters, and goes to pull it out from under the girl, shifting her body. It's then that Stiles sees it, a small black trigger pressed by the weight of the dead girl and being released as Barretta slides her body over.

"NO!" he barely has time to shout when there is an explosion, then another, and another.

He throws his arms over his head and curls into a protective ball, feeling chunks of flaming debris hitting him. One heavy slab of something strikes him soundly in the side and he hears and feels the agonizing crack of bone.

The team is yelling, those by the door unable to see them through the din.

"Stilinski! Barretta! Respond!" Grumman shouts, and it takes several tries but Stiles finally manages a weak answering shout through the blood and pain in his mouth. He hears Barretta groan somewhere nearby and feels relief that he didn't die in the blast.

"Bloody Amicus scum" Barretta says, and Stiles finds himself agreeing before he slips into unconsciousness.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! explosions and such happening! What is going on!? Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed! The next chapter is ready to GO, I just hope I get some feedback from y'all before I continue with this crime thriller I have planned! And again please do visit me on tumblr! Love!


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